The Olympian Project
by RedFluffyBanana
Summary: Development of an idea by Chaos-theultim8-order. Ambrose Turms is a small man with a big dream...to create the Greek Gods in the modern world.


Author Note: Just something I wrote a year ago, and as such not my best work (by a long shot). Thankyou to Chaos-theultim8-order for permission to reboot the idea. Follwing chapters will be uploaded whenever I find the time to do so (and to write them). Watch out for new chapters on stories that haven't been updated for a while. (i.e. The End of the Gods) as well as a rewritten copy of this chapter, (not 100% happy with it as it is).

Enjoy (hopefully).

Chapter One- Stage One

Ambrose Turms marched towards the building with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. The last day of negotiations had, undoubtedly, been the most pivotal of his life. Years of research, years of his mortal life sacrificed… to lead to this moment.

A rush of excitement bubbled in the pit of his stomach, and escaped as a joyous laugh from his lips.

In retrospect, the astonished, agape expressions he had received were the best he could have possibly hoped for. After all how else would anyone react to his proposal, other than complete speechlessness? How else would anyone act if he had just announced to the most powerful group of people in the world, that he- a lowly scientist- wanted to re-create the glory and splendour of the Greek gods in the modern world. Naturally there were declarations doubting his sanity, but he managed to persuade them, turn them to his cause.

After all control meant power.

They had all accepted…the lure of the potential power at stake was only too tempting for them. And all, he was asking was a couple of billion dollars from each one, and in return, he could grant them the control they desired. A piece of _his_ dream.

They had chosen their candidates, those that were the most likely to survive the series of operations that would change their bodies into something else..something beyond the limitations of everyone else's mortal shells.

They would become gods.

He clutched the papers in his hand tightly, and looked up.

The ancient façade was a striking contrast to what was hidden in its catacombs. With the distinct slanted roof and the archaic frieze which was supported upon the weathered ionic columns (a testament to their authenticity,) no one would guess that this was the home of the most advanced medical and military technologies in the world. Government funded and top secret, only a handful of people knew of its existence. And with a combination of luck and skill, Ambrose had finally been given permission to go ahead with his project.

The thought sent shivers down his spine….

Turms continued on, his pace swiftly quickening, past the 20 foot tall statues of the Olympian gods which stood guard, their stern faces and icy glares only fuelled his anticipation.

He stepped up to the threshold, and rested his hand on the correct limestone brick. What happened next, though expected, had always created an uneasiness in Ambrose. The 'limestone' turned viscous, allowing his hand to pass through as easily as through water. With a shaky breath he pushed forward, until first his wrist, then his arm were swathed in its icy hold. He ducked his head allowing the cold sensation to wash over him. After a couple of seconds, he hit a wall of warmth. He opened his eyes; the artificial lights which hung overhead were comforting in their familiarity as a mother's hug to a child. Ambrose inclined his head at the guards who were eyeing him with a look that suggested both respect and tolerance, before moving on past the security point.

He inhaled, welcoming the clinical scent of disinfectant which permeated the air. He was inside.

Time to deliver the news.

-Ω-

He placed the papers down on the metallic table in front of him, focusing on each member of the congregation in turn. His expression was unreadable, as were those of the people around him. All were the best in their chosen fields- he would have accepted no less than their expertise. Some agreed to join his project willingly, albeit with slight concerns, others he had to be marginally more forceful. Dr Lieberman stood grim-faced directly opposite him. Lieberman was a genius..no one present doubted that, which is why he had been chosen to lead the biological side of the project. However, Turms had had a number of disputes with him, largely about the ethics of what they were doing. But he would abide his morals…for now.

Ambrose pushed those unpleasant thoughts aside, not wanting to tarnish the unveiling of this most precious of information. He inclined his head at the assembly, and with a small smile tugging at his lips, fighting for control over the rest of his face, he told them the news;

"We have been granted permission to go ahead."

A cacophony of delighted replies met this announcement, and he conceded the smile to conquer the rest of his expression- however, he noted Dr Lieberman's shake of his head, the clenching of his teeth, the wringing of his hands.

One person, evidently was not pleased with the result that he so desired.

-Ω-

"Come now Makayla…we mustn't be late." He quickened his pace, until his feet all but whispered along the titanium plating on the floor. Makayla, his assistant and friend struggled to keep up, burdened with data pads and holograms as she was.

"Mr Turms, you couldn't give me a hand? Please?" She added with a smile.

"Oh…of course." He headed back and grabbed a data pad which sat precariously at the top.

"Thank you sir." She rolled her eyes, altering her balance accordingly as a hologram slid down the small mound that still rest in her arms.

She watched with amusement as he activated the data pad in his hand, his fingers danced across the screen, flicking through the images of the subjects. It was a term they had been advised- no, _ordered _to say.

_Subjects_….. _like they're not even human. _

His eyes scanned the current image; a man who appeared in his 40's but was, in fact, much younger. A military background. Known for his ruthlessness in battle. Court Marshalled. Now a freelance mercenary who had survived many a mission that many would describe as suicidal. He was the perfect weapon. They would make him better.

Subject 04, a Harvard Professor, chess grandmaster, Noble prize winner...all in all a genius. Subject 07, master archer, Subject 10 a thief renowned for his reflexes and ability to escape capture. Subject 11…..

Ambrose continued his absentminded search with an indifferent expression. Makayla had to look away, as she was suddenly overcome by a bout of nausea.

She swallowed the bile which threatened to rush up her throat and focused her gaze on her boss. Gone was the anxious, tense demeanour, the over-worked persona she had come to expect; he seemed an entirely new person.

His grey eyes were alive, the stress of the last few weeks all but forgotten. The grey streaks in his hair practically unnoticeable. The premature creases in his skin non-existent. He looked younger…more youthful than he had in years.

_Surprising what a little good news could do,_ she mused.

Eventually they reached the end of the corridor, where a colossal door- as thick as it was tall (and apparently completely impenetrable…only the best security for its precious cargo) stood in their path.

The full body scanner was apparently too slow for Ambrose, who continued the daily rant about his regrets of diverting most of the budget on the subjects and not on updating the technology around the base.

"Come on, come on, come on." Ambrose mumbled under his breath. His movements were frantic, eager- like a child who had just been told that christmas had come early.

Finally, after what must have seemed like a lifetime to Ambrose, the door permitted their entry. The bolts slid back with just the faintest of a protest, the aluminium alloy fluid, almost alien in its movements.

The sheer magnificence of the chamber never failed to leave Makayla lost for words. True she had only stepped foot in the room 2, maybe 3 times, but the sense of awe never dissipated.

The room was massive, cavernous, and looked as if it had been taken directly from an episode of Star Trek. Illuminated spotlights shone from the single walkway which looped around the centre piece, which itself was bathed in beams of iridescent light. The twelve tanks were held suspended in place, watched from all angles by observation decks, which lined the walls, each one buzzing with activity.

Ambrose gazed out at the cylindrical tanks; each held one perfectly human, perfectly normal being in stasis. Seven males and five females. They were his children, he would nurture them..make them stronger, faster, smarter….unbeatable.

Ambrose flicked his eyes to his wristwatch, observing the steady, predictable second hand make its journey around the clock face. Counting down the last minutes of their mortal lives.

It was time to begin.

Light headed with the sheer thrill of the moment, his next words tumbled out of his mouth- the edge of excitement evident on his tongue.

"Commence stage one, Biological augmentations."


End file.
